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  “He indeed is.”

  Ya’el slowly shook his head again, tendrils of his dark floating hair rubbing against his face reminding him he needed a haircut. He watched as the bloody furrows of those insertion vectors through the atmosphere bled away until Terra seemed undisturbed again. As are most worlds. We yell and scream our importance at the universe, and it just ignores us. He couldn’t help a chuckle at the odd thought. Philosophy? From me?

  “May I inquire as to why you laugh?” Zoie asked.

  He looked back over to his ovKhan’s pale, intelligent eyes. “Just thinking about our proto-ilKhan attempts to walk a razor’s edge with Wolf’s Dragoons. They are weeks from touching Terran soil. Yet when they do, will his tightrope walk work?”

  She nodded. “Aff. I believe so. They were Clansmen when first sent to the Inner Sphere more than a century ago. He claims them as blood. Just as he does the Wolves-in-Exile.”

  “Almost as fine a line as any Sea Fox contract.”

  She smiled easily. “Almost. Yet we would have found ways to bring other mercenaries. There are many with blood-ties to the Clans.”

  He laughed more fully, drawing a few eyes away from the holoprojection. Not often I can feel so at ease with my ovKhans.

  “It is fascinating, my saKhan,” Zoie continued, “that we would have found a way to bring any mercenary command we needed for this, the greatest gamble in our Clan’s history.”

  His levity fell away as the spark of an idea flourished. “What did you say?” He spoke, trying to keep her talking as he teased at the idea.

  Confused for a moment, she responded, “Only that if we were attacking Terra, we would have found a way to bring any assets we needed.”

  “We would never attack Terra,” he said absentmindedly as thoughts dove deep into the currents unexpectedly unleashed. Mercenaries…

  “I did not mean to imply such a travesty. We have neither the might, nor the desire.”

  Her tone pulled him out again. Ya’el could see a slight reddening of her pale face, and he just kept a sigh at bay for his thoughtlessness. Despite the brief moment of levity, he was her superior, and loose words wrecked any deal.

  “I apologize,” he said formally, inclining his head imperceptibly. He flipped his hand underneath the railing and pulled himself down until his magslips adhered to the metal deck. “I did not mean to imply otherwise. I assume you have a full record of all mercenaries under contract in the Federated Suns?”

  Her mouth slowly dropped open, as he caught her flat-footed, flustered as she took a long moment to slowly nod. “Aff. It is fascinating you would seek such information after our…miscommunication?”

  He smiled, waved away her concern. “You simply have opened up a new possibility. If anything comes of it, Alpha Aimag will of course be in the thick of events.”

  She touched her hand to her heart. “I serve and live, my saKhan. Review our full library in my quarters, if you wish. You know its location?”

  “Aff.”

  He turned away, moving carefully to keep adhered to the deck as he headed off the bridge and toward the ladder to descend the decks to her quarters. His thoughts sprang from problem to problem, noting which could be resolved easily and which required much larger levers to shift. The last would be most difficult. What possible leverage could he use to move such large forces into new currents? What’s important to them. No, what is most important to them. He would need to dig, and dig deep.

  Despite the myriad challenges, a full, large smile speared across his face, leaving the crew whirling with questions in his wake as he trudged on unseeing, eyes only on the riptides that could carry him to a new, powerful trajectory…or dash him against unseen shoals.

  NEAR ILLICIAN LANCERS ENCAMPMENT

  AL QALYŪBĪYAH, KAFR SILIM

  CAPELLAN MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  3 FEBRUARY 3151

  The 60-ton Ostroc sped along the arroyos several kilometers away from the Lancers’ encampment, a company trailing behind her. Perched in her cockpit, Colonel Luciana Araya Morales expertly maneuvered the pedals and throttle, adjusting the ’Mech’s movements around outcroppings and rough ground, keeping its nearly eighty-kilometer speed and tolerating the pounding vibrations that shook up through the ’Mech and into her bones. As the heat level of the cockpit slowly rose from all the activity, the fusion engine nestled in the war avatar’s chest below her feet hummed with efficiency. Every now and then, feedback from the massive gyro spinning away in the Ostroc’s chest tweaked through its connection to the neurohelmet encasing her head; helping keep the ’Mech upright, despite her best efforts to push the heavy BattleMech’s boundaries of speed and movement.

  The arroyo abruptly fell away to a flat plain a dozen kilometers from their encampment. In the depths of summer on the southern continent, heat eddies shimmered across the arid flatland with such virulence as to confuse IR scanners, unable to immediately discern the natural heat plumes from hostile units’ heat sinks. But her mag-scans immediately shrilled their alarms in her cockpit, matched by blips sparking on her radar screen as a marching column of Capellan ’Mechs abruptly came into range.

  “A three-kilometer run through those damn crazy arroyos, and we timed it perfectly to catch them with their pants down!” Luciana shouted into the commline.

  “I believe they have invited us to have our way, no?” Major Jacoby shouted back, practically filling her cockpit with excitement. “Leaving their tail wagging?”

  The majority of the marching line of ’Mechs was well past their position, with the slowest or most vulnerable at the rear, including their mobile HQ. Luciana smoothly pulled on her right-hand joystick, the matching targeting reticule moving on her forward viewscreen until it fell onto their command-and-control vehicle, turning gold, with a corresponding hum of a target lock in her ear, just as she entered into range for the two extended range large lasers mounted high on her Ostroc’s chest. She eased into the trigger and twin, scintillating beams stabbed unerringly through the wavering heat into the side of the HQ. She let out another yell and jabbed her fist into the air at the glorious explosion displayed on her viewscreen.

  The rest of Luciana’s company spilled out behind her, and lived up to the heritage of their centuries of training as a mobile command. The Fifty-Ninth Strike savaged the enemy; before the line could turn to deal with the onslaught, they’d already destroyed a half dozen vehicles and three ’Mechs without losing a single one in return.

  Less than sixty seconds later, the training judges awarded a maximum success to her command, and a complete rout to their training “Capellan” opponents, a detachment from their sister regiment, the Twenty-First Rangers.

  She slowed her ’Mech to a full stop, adrenaline still cascading through her system, sweat trickling into its usual uncomfortable cracks with the oppressive heat; she breathed heavily. Despite years of engaging in only training exercises, finding a way to fully shock and surprise the other Lancer commander was hugely gratifying. They need to remember how good I am.

  “That was...unexpected,” Colonel Kenneth Ramaley’s voice spoke across an open comm channel. “You won this day.”

  The commline went dead, and Luciana couldn’t help the uproarious laughter that filled her cockpit. “Well done, Strike,” she said on her own command’s comm channel. “You’ve made all Lancers proud today.” Then she couldn’t help herself. “Well, almost all.”

  The laughter that erupted in response was worth any recriminations the general might hand down for besmirching another officer. “Let’s form up and head back to some well-deserved R&R.” The cheers were even louder as she eased the throttle forward and used the pedals to maneuver her Ostroc around and fell into the lead of a company of ’Mechs, heading back through the arroyo, and the half-day’s march that lay ahead.

  “You know, this will help you in the ongoing Elders discussions,” Xavier said.

  For a moment, her ire surged for his daring to say that over an open comm, before a
quick look at her console indicated he’d opened a private, encrypted burst between the two of them. Ire subsided to inevitability. Of course you’d use this to continue pressing your case. He’d practically browbeat her every day since the moment she’d chased him out of her office last fall, as though to make up for daring to show him something he could never have. If he wasn’t such a good commander, he’d be permanently in the brig for insubordination.

  “I’m sure you’re thinking ‘of course now he’s going to make his case,’” he continued, his voice falling into that familiar, wheedling cadence.

  A tired smile slipped into place at Xavier nailing her thoughts. Well, that is why he’s my XO. And she had to concede, a friend.

  “But seriously, Luciana, the conclaves begin next week. This could not have been better timed to show them you are the best to lead us.”

  “And why am I the best?” she said tiredly, the sweat of the last hours drying and flacking, itchy on her skin as the cockpit heat fell to normal levels, the pumping of coolant through her vest always giving her the sense of worms on her skin, despite the years of familiarity. I’m getting drawn into this conversation, again, you bastard. She sighed and continued, despite her own resistance. “Just because I’ve got the tactics? I caught Ramaley unaware. He’s good. Very good. He won’t let that happen again.”

  “It’s not about the tactics, per se. It’s about taking risks. About getting recognition. We should be in the thick of it. How long have we been stuck on this border, while the Dragon savages House Davion? In half a millennium, no one has come so close to toppling the Suns. And they leave their most stalwart mercenary command on a border of guaranteed peace thanks to a pact signed by the Prince’s own hand while their capital is sacked?!” The vehemence in his voice slipped past his usual calm façade.

  Luciana stepped her ’Mech through a particularly rough patch of the arroyo, shaking her head at her earlier audacity. How in the hell did we get through here at speed without tripping up? “Major, you almost sound like a House command. We go where the contract tells us.” She swallowed convulsively to get out the truth, and continued, “And because we failed to take the DropPort on New Syrtis three years ago, the Prince has placed us on this border to protect against House Liao predations, regardless of the peace accords.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Xavier shot back. “He’s put us into time out because he didn’t like how the battle turned out. They used us as cannon fodder, and then were shocked we didn’t accomplish every goal.”

  “Aren’t mercenaries always cannon fodder?”

  “Yes, yes they are. But that also means they’re in the thick of the most important fighting. Not sitting out here, our talents wasted. You’ve heard the Prince is now handing out grants of nobility to mercenary commands. And what do we get? Messy scraps from the peasant table, as we cover half a dozen worlds here?”

  Her mouth slowly fell open as she squirmed a little in her chair, uncomfortable at the deluge of emotions. I’ve never heard you rant like this. That’s my gig, not yours, to run my mouth. “What do you want from me?” she finally asked.

  “I want you to get us off this border. The Illician Lancers deserve better than this. And you know it. I want you to lead.”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, emotions riled, unable to respond. She shivered at a disapproving, ghostly presence she felt right in the cockpit. Silence slipped between the two of them as the minutes turned into hours, marching through the hot air back to base, one multi-ton foot after the other, thoughts churning endlessly like the heat eddies all around.

  MERCHANT CARRACK-CLASS TRANSPORT JORMUNGANDR

  TERRAN SYSTEM

  REPUBLIC OF THE SPHERE

  25 MARCH 3151

  Ya’el anxiously awaited news by concentrating on the files spread across the wide holodisplay above the desk in front of him. He’d finished reading the morning reports about Clan Wolf progress. As I had predicted, this world will belong to the Wolves soon.

  There were still some deadly fights ahead, and many warriors would still lose their lives. But true to form, Malvina couldn’t spot the blatant signs of defeat if they had been etched into the sky with hundred-meter letters. She will be vanquished, along with her entire Clan and her wretched doctrine...

  He clicked his teeth at that thought. No Clan liked to contemplate the fall of another. Especially one with such a prestigious history. But they chose to follow her insanity. They have reaped what they sown.

  Instead, he looked back over the spread of research and notes he’d devoured over the last several weeks. Ronin. Harlock’s Warriors. Twelfth Vegan Rangers. Langendorf Lancers. Illician Lancers. Narhal’s Raiders. Lexington Combat Group. While there were dozens more mercenary commands under the Suns banner, none were more notable for their experience, history, notoriety, or combat prowess: or combinations of all elements. He ignored the other folder in the corner, blinking, awaiting news…

  His eyes roved back and forth across the display, unseeing of the tight berth of grey walls he’d been inside for what seemed an eternity; he loved plying the space lanes, but this waiting was getting to him. He’d color-coded each file long ago: black for ‘probably not’. Red for ‘probably yes’. Yellow for a ‘definitive yes’. And green for ‘this is the one.’ He resisted changing any file to black until he had received the news he needed.

  The Ronin earned a black mark, as they were too small. After the hundredth review, he firmly raised his right hand and double-tapped closed that window in the air; the remaining zoomed out larger to take up the space.

  Harlock’s Warriors and Langendorf Lancers were both respectable outfits, at the appropriate size. But they lacked the history and renown that would make his plan come to fruition. We have to go big right from the gate, or it will all come tumbling down. He tapped those red folders closed.

  The remaining three, all marked yellow, were the Twelfth Vegan Rangers, Lexington Combat Group and Illician Lancers. Each one checked all of the boxes admirably. Regiment (or multi-regiment) commands with a stellar history and prowess. However, he slowly reached out and closed the LCG window. They’ve accepted the patent of nobility of House Davion. Not that I could not work with that, but it makes the streams much more difficult to navigate. I will not have the leverage with them.

  Ya’el fidgeted in his chair as he stared at the final two entries. The prizes that will give me my new trajectory. But will they be up…or down?

  As he reread the facts about the two commands he’d already memorized, he lost himself to concentration, and was abruptly shocked as ovKhan Zoie Vewas appeared before him, trying to catch his attention through the holodisplay.

  “SaKhan?” she said.

  “Sorry, ovKhan, was concentrating.”

  “Of course.”

  Abruptly, the small moment of shame at losing himself so thoroughly that any assassin could have waltzed in and stolen his life vanished as he noted her cradling something in her arm, and the energy of the moment soared through him. “We have news!?”

  “We do. The ploy worked perfectly. He accompanied a supply DropShip down into southern Europe mid-month. Slipped away with a hover bike. It took him three days to find it. Exactly as indicated by your research into the Clan archives of the Star League, before the Hegemony occupation. He then requisitioned a long-range shuttle and burned at multiple Gs.”

  “Reward him handsomely,” he responded absently, standing up as she walked around her own desk. She slipped the lid off the small case, the bright light of the holovid revealing the contents within, and a smile burst onto his face. He looked up to find a similar smile on hers.

  “We are going to do it? We will leave Terra and the ilClan trial before it is finished?” she asked, conveying both excitement and trepidation all in one go.

  Ya’el hated leaving at this moment; he was Clan enough for that. Yet he hated leaving most because he knew, only several thousand kilometers distant, Petr Kalasa sat ensconced in ArcShip P
oseidon. That he was freely leaving the man to his machinations with Khan Hawker at the end of this conflict. Who knows the further heights Petr might rise to? But he also knew the only hope he had to catch that ascendant star, to stave off Petr seizing the Khanship in a few years, lay far from here, in the biggest gamble of his life.

  “Aff.”

  “It is interesting, I still believe there is leverage in the remaining HPGs within the Suns.”

  He nodded. “There could be. But the currents are taking us in a new direction. And the spoils go to those bold enough to venture out upon them. Continue to pursue the HPGs, of course. But for now, back to the bridge, ovKhan. Our destination is more than three hundred light years and thirteen jumps away. Nearly a hundred days if we do not redline recharging. Which we may. The waves from Terra are surging out as Alaric Wolf changes the universe. We need to ride them quickly to seize the day.”

  Zoie nodded slowly, obviously unhappy with the danger he would put her beloved ship in, but nevertheless she was Sea Fox, and the excitement carried the day. She replaced the lid onto the box and carefully handed it to him before marching out of the berth, heading toward the central ladder that would take her to the bridge.

  Ya’el held the box close, the precious lever he needed, and slowly reached out to close the Twelfth Vegan Rangers window. I’m going to need all that travel time to delve more fully into the dossiers I’ve crafted for the three commanders. Who is the most desperate? Who can I leverage the most? he thought as he cradled the box.

  His program, noting only a single window open, auto changed the color of the Illician Lancers folders from red to black outline, the red and orange logo, with its prominent yellow lightning bolt, loomed large in his eyes.

  On you I link my fate. May fortune smile on the both of us. He could almost feel cosmic-sized dice spinning in his head for the long minutes it took for the Jormungandr to tear open a hole in space and begin its months-long journey to his destiny.